


Day 19-24

by h_itoshi



Series: 30 Day OTP challenge [4]
Category: Sexy Zone
Genre: Anxiety, Fancy AU, I'll tag the whole group even though they're not really in this, M/M, More variety than before heh, wedding party
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-06
Updated: 2017-02-06
Packaged: 2018-09-22 13:25:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9609335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/h_itoshi/pseuds/h_itoshi
Summary: Includes the prompts: In formal wear, Dancing, Cooking/baking, In battle (side by side), and Arguing+Making up afterwards





	

19\. In formal wear – R for semi-public blowjob. Try and tell me Kento doesn't have a thing for ties - 1378 words

 

“I hate you.” Kento almost growls, his eyes glittering fierce but Fuma just grins because the hand still around his wrist says otherwise.

“You don't.” He says, meeting Kento's eyes and he can't keep the playful smile off his face, thinking that his decision on clothing this morning is one of the best he's ever made.

They're at his cousin's wedding party, and it's getting late, people are drunk and happy and moving from their seats, and so Kento grabbed him the second Fuma stood up and dragged him out of sight. Not _that_ out of sight, just into a small room that's dark and seemingly being used as storage for things that are normally in the hall that's arranged with tables right now. The door isn't even entirely closed.

But it doesn't stop Kento from backing him up against the wall like he couldn't care less if Fuma's dad so came to find them. It's hot.

“You knew.” Kento accuses, voice still low with anger, but his hand lets go of Fuma's wrist in favour of moving to his waist.

“Maybe.” Fuma says evasively, but he's arching into Kento's hands that trail lightly over his shirt, and he still smiles because hell yes he knew.

“Don't act innocent. You fucker.” Kento mutters, and his hand slowly rises to twirl into Fuma's tie. “I can't believe you did this to me in front of your parents.”

“You know them well enou-” Fuma should have expected the tug, but he's still cut off with a small sound when it comes, finding himself with Kento's hair in his face as Kento's lips brush his temple so gently it's like they're not even there.

His shaky exhale comes out too close to Kento's ear to remain undiscovered, but he doesn't care.

“Not well enough to bend their eldest son over the table in front of them.” Kento mumbles, speaking against his skin, and Fuma's eyes fall closed as he shivers.

It took him a while to figure this out, after they got together. Kento's abnormal attraction to ties. How he can't seem to stop playing with them, how even during photoshoots he has troubles keeping his hands off. He had his suspicions though, and eventually decided to test his hypothesis by wearing one to work. It ended up similarly to where they are now, and afterwards, Kento asked him to please not wear ties in public unless he has to. And so Fuma wore necklaces or bow ties instead when formal wear was required.

Until this morning, when he chose a tie on a whim. A bow tie felt a little too fancy, a necklace not fancy enough. Besides, he thought it could be fun.

Kento's look when he first laid eyes on it today said all Fuma thought it might, but he pulled through, just smiled and greeted Fuma as usual. There's been people around them all day. At the ceremony and at the reception, always people, mostly Fuma's family. And Kento has looked fine, so Fuma might have played with his tie a little bit, might have loosened it the slightest, just to get Kento's attention.

“Am I a little twisted if it's kind of hot knowing you were thinking about that during dinner?” Fuma asks, considering the contrast of Kento's perfectly polite and smiling façade and the thoughts in his head.

“You are.” Kento agrees, but doesn't let Fuma reply, instead finally presses their lips together while holding Fuma in place by his tie. The kiss quickly turns messy, tongues tangling and small noises slipping out, and Fuma fists his hands in Kento's shirt in order to pull him closer. He groans when he feels how hard Kento is, and doesn't stop his hips from grinding into Kento's in order to match him.

It's not until the kiss breaks because he feels himself being pulled downwards that he considers what a stupid idea it was to work himself up here and now. He looks up at Kento with wide eyes, since the way Kento's pulling down on his tie is very obvious, then glances at the door, the strip of light where it's ajar.

“You can't be serious.” He says quietly, but Kento's eyes are as dark as they ever get, sparkling with revenge and Fuma slowly lowers himself to his knees despite himself. “My little sister could come in.”

“Not if you're fast.” Kento grins victoriously, letting the tie slip from his fingers in favour of relocating his hand to Fuma's hair. “Don't act like you're not a performer. You like this.”

Fuma wants to snap something at him, but he can't deny that it feels really dirty being on his knees in his fanciest suit and knowing that technically his parents could walk in.

He really doesn't want that to happen though, so he quickly reaches out for the fastenings of Kento's suit pants.

Kento sighs and leans his free arm against the wall above Fuma's head to brace himself as Fuma pulls out his cock from his underwear. Normally, Fuma would tease because that's what they both do, but now, he doesn't waste any time before leaning in and wrapping his lips around the head, hand firmly around the base to help speed this up.

He closes his eyes to just focus on feeling and listening, but it makes him hyper aware of every sound in the building. He hears voices and laughter from the reception hall, hears the soft rustle of his own clothing as he moves, hears Kento's sharp exhales and low groans. When there are steps passing by the door, Fuma almost panics, but Kento's fingers in his hair tighten to keep him in place, and Fuma's not sure if he's terrified or turned on.

He uses all the tricks he can think of to get Kento off faster, licks at the vein on the underside, hums gently against his skin and strokes just hard enough, but he gets the feeling Kento's trying his hardest not to give in and it's frustrating but still strangely hot.

Eventually, Kento can't hold out anymore, and gently tugs at Fuma's hair in warning before he comes, hiding his face in his arm to muffle the moan as he spurts warm over Fuma's tongue.

Fuma's not sure if he's ever felt so satisfied about getting his lover off. He pulls back and takes a deep, slow breath to calm his racing heartbeat from the onslaught of stress and testosterone in his blood circulation, and Kento slowly pushes himself back up to stand without support and gets himself dressed again.

He reaches a hand out for Fuma to help him up, and Fuma accepts, feeling his knees cracking as he rises.

Kento laughs softly at Fuma's small sound of pain at his stiff joins, and he's so pretty Fuma leans in to kiss him.

Until he hears footsteps approaching again and he quickly pulls back, head whipping around to look as the door opens slowly and two curious heads peak inside.

“... What are you doing?” Fuma's little brother asks, frowning as he looks at them standing there in the darkness, which Fuma is so grateful for right now because he's blushing.

“What are _you_ doing?” Fuma counters, the irritation in his voice coming through stronger due to the fresh adrenaline. “Get lost!”

“Okay okay...” His brother mutters, their cousin of similar age that he hangs out with looking a little scared as they both retreat, leaving the door even more open than before.

Fuma turns to Kento, fully intent to yell at him, but Kento's clearly trying his hardest not to start laughing.

“... I hate you.” Fuma ends up with, but his tone is plain and he can't make himself angrier.

“You don't.” Kento replies in a very good impersonation of Fuma's voice, leaning in to kiss his cheek but then pulls back, starting to slowly walk for the door. “Besides, isn't it your turn to walk around half-hard for a couple hours?”

Now Fuma really feels like yelling at him, but in a way, he figures that he deserves it. He's never wearing a tie in public again.

 

20\. Dancing – PG (Commerical to the plot-rescue!) - 712 words

 

Fuma's not that fond of dancing. Of course he likes it to a certain extent, but only when it's choreographed to the tiniest millisecond and he doesn't have to think at all, just learn and do. He's not even a club dancer, even though he hears a lot that he should be good at that considering what he does on stage.

But it doesn't come naturally to him. Not like it does for Kento.

Fuma slumps down against the back wall of the studio to grab his water bottle, whining loudly when the choreographer gives him a stern look across the room. His thighs are tired and he's not in synch right now anyway.

“Okay, let's take five minutes.” The choreographer accepts as the music fades down, and the rest of the group sighs and scatters towards their bags immediately.

Kento lingers, repeating a step in slow motion while watching himself in the mirror sceptically, and Fuma is just a tiny bit bitter that Kento's limbs makes that seem so effortless.

Kento seems to feel that he's being watched, glancing up and finding Fuma's eyes immediately, a cute smile spreading on his lips.

His arms drop to his side as he turns and plops down next to Fuma instead, sighing as he leans against the cold wall.

“It's a bit rough, isn't it?” He asks, and Fuma smiles because Kento's hair at the back of his neck is sticky with sweat, even more so now that they're actually rehearsing with jackets.

“It's not Yobisute.” Fuma sighs and drinks more water to distract himself from how out of shape he feels.

“Not at all.” Kento agrees. “So much hips.”

“I was almost going to ask whether we're selling suits or ourselves when we got this choreo.” Fuma admits, but he knows this is what they're supposed to do. They're called Sexy Zone after all, they should live up to their name somehow. Besides, Marius is turning seventeen and Sou looks really good lately, so management definitely wants them to step up their game.

“We always sell ourselves.” Kento says softly, and in a way, he's right. Fuma assumes he chose which interpretation of that statement he wanted to hear and decides not to push it.

“Why won't my hips do that thing that yours do?” He asks instead, knowing he sounds childish but he doesn't consider himself an adult yet anyway.

Kento smiles before his head lulls to the side enough to look at Fuma. “Say Fuma, how many solo performances have you done _without_ humping the air?”

Fuma glares at him, because that's not fair, and he's not automatically comfortable with it just because it draws out girl screams. “Very funny.”

“I know, isn't it ironic?” Kento grins, seemingly very pleased with how funny he is, and Fuma rolls his eyes.

“It just looks so effortless when you do it, but I feel like my thighs are going to cave.” He says, watching Sou step back in front of the mirror and do a hiproll on his own, and it looks good and Fuma feels sorry for himself.

“You clearly don't exercise enough.” Kento says with a cute smile, and Fuma considers punching him, but there's something in his tone that sounds like it's not just a lazy-jab.

“Clearly.” Fuma says bitterly, seeing their choreographer starting to get things ready to keep going and he groans.

“That's okay. I know a great way of working on both your hiprolls and thighs.” Kento says sweetly before he rises, and it's only the filthy grin he sends Fuma that makes him certain he heard right. “I'll help you practise, if you want.”

Fuma just glares at him until he leaves, thinking that Kento's not helping and dirty suggestions is not the best way of getting him in a better mood, and definitely not suitable for dance practise.

But as he's trying not to die while they go through the choreography again and again, he watches Kento through the mirror, analyzing how his hips move and he can very vividly associate it to times when Kento would do that in a much more private situation.

Maybe that suggestion wasn't too stupid after all.

 

21\. Cooking/baking – G, fluff – 604 words

 

 

“It's 2 am? How is it 2 am already!?” Kento exclaims as he stares at his phone screen.

“I'm really nice to talk to, time runs away.” Fuma says easily, because Kento laid it up for that comment.

Kento slaps his shoulder but laughs, his head falling back against Fuma's arm around his neck. “I'm never up this late without even thinking about going to bed.”

“Don't you ever go to parties?” Fuma teases, fingers playing with Kento's fluffy hair, untamed after the shower a good 6 hours ago.

“I usually go home around 2 am.” Kento admits, and Fuma laughs because yeah, that's probably true. Kento's habits are hard to break. Except, it seems, if you're armed with a Yamada drama and a talkative personality, like Fuma.

“Are you tired?” Fuma raises an eyebrow to ask, because Kento doesn't seem particularly tired.

“No.” Kento admits, sounding a little confused about that himself. “I'm actually kind of hungry.”

Fuma has to laugh, because he normally thinks that if he gets hungry at night, he's up too late, but now, when they have nowhere to be tomorrow and Kento's still awake, he doesn't mind indulging it to spend some more time together just like this.

“Then let's make food.” He suggests, squeezing Kento's shoulders before letting go in order to stand up.

“What, now?” Kento frowns, but he's slowly rising as well. “Fuma it's the middle of the night?”

“Yeah, and you're hungry?” Fuma grins, heading for the kitchen to consider what they have. “Pasta would be good, don't you think?”

“... Pasta would be good.” Kento agrees, following him, and Fuma's smile widens, feeling like when he was 14 and stayed up late without permission from his parents and dared to get up and have a sandwich past midnight.

Fuma opens the fridge and looks at what's in there, thinking about what they could make with the little they have.

“Tomatoes are nice with pasta.” Kento suggests, leaning his chin on Fuma's shoulder to get a look as well, arms wrapping around Fuma's waist. “Garlic.”

“True.” Fuma agrees, more interested in staying in Kento's embrace like this than actually think about food right now.

“We have olive oil and chili, let's just do that.” Kento decides, releasing Fuma enough to reach past him and pick out ingredients.

Fuma gets put on chopping garlic because that's the most boring job, but he's not complaining too much. It's not onions after all, he doesn't have to cry, and besides, it somehow feels more fun cooking at 2 am than it does normally.

Kento keeps smiling and giggling like he feels the same way, and Fuma starts considering if they can't cook at night more often.

Especially since when everything else is prepared and they're just waiting for the boiling pasta, Kento backs him up against the counter and kisses the smile off his lips until the pasta boils over.

“Food has never been this good.” Kento praises when they're back in the couch, cuddled together as well as possible with both of them having plates full of food in their hands.

“Agreed.” Fuma nods, thinking that it's almost like drunk food, when anything tastes like it was made by the gods just because you're craving it so much. “We should have more nights like this.”

“Totally.” Kento agrees, mouth full. “I have another drama I want to see for next time.”

Fuma grins, making the effort to reach over and ruffle his hair. “As long as it's not a tearfest.”

 

22\. In battle, side by side – PG. Warnings for anxiety – 1532 words

 

The most difficult thing about it, is if it happens when they're apart.

If Fuma breaks down when Kento can't hold him until it passes for now. If it's just a hint in a text message or a shaky voice over the phone and Kento realizes too late. When it takes so much longer than it would if he'd just been there.

But he can't be there all the time.

“You'll be okay.” He says soothingly, listening to Fuma's shallow breaths over the phone as he tries to calm down. “I'm here. It's okay.”

“I'm sorry.” Fuma mumbles, voice broken with tears and Kento's heart hurts. But still, he has to angle the mouthpiece away and take a long deep breath to keep his full patience.

“I told you it's okay, right?” He assures, keeping his voice low because it is 2.30 in the morning. “It's not your fault.”

Fuma's anxiety issues has been there for a long time. Probably since before they got together, but it swings into good and bad periods depending on a lot of things. Stress, mostly. When their group was first split apart, Fuma was in a very bad state for a long time, and since they were a fresh couple back then, Kento had no idea what to do and if he could even help. He must admit, he had much more patience back then, but now, he knows how to handle it in a more effective way.

He knows a lot more about it too. That it's not voluntary, and that if Fuma tries to suppress it it just gets worse, lashes back harder because he worries about it maybe happening so much that it ends up happening. It's not always panic attacks or fits of crying, sometimes it's just a dull, lingering aching that Kento can see on him these days if they're in the same room. That's almost worse, because it's an inevitable build up to some kind of anxiety attack that can strike at any time, but the long starting phase just draws it out.

“But it is, in a way.” Fuma takes a long breath, and Kento thinks he sounds better, more stable. “I'm sorry to keep you up, you need to sleep.”

“I want to be with you until you feel okay. You need sleep too.” Kento says, gently but decidedly, staring into the darkness of his bedroom where he sits in bed, leaning against the wall.

He knows Fuma goes through hell at times like these. Has heard enough thoughts slip in the middle of these sessions to know that this is down to an existential level, not just if he did well today or if someone dislikes him or not, it's about if he even deserves to live, if he deserves to be loved and what is the point of being here.

It's heavy, and the first few times it made Kento angry that he'd even think those things. But he knows now that Fuma can't help it. It's his brain that makes up these things on its own and makes Fuma believe it over and over.

Which means that Kento can't count the times he's said those phrases to chase the darkness in Fuma's mind away. I'm here. I love you. I care about you. It's not your fault. I won't leave you.

But it took so long for him to accept that he'd have to repeat it every time.

 

“ _I've already told you I love you, why won't you believe me?” He calls, frustration breaking into his voice because he's said it a hundred times._

“ _I know.” Fuma says, eyes lowered and his hands shaking, that almost wild expression on his face he has when he can't control himself. “I'm sorry.”_

“ _Why can't you just accept it? I love you! Don't you trust me when I say it?” Kento almost growls, because he does and how else can he possibly show it than say it and be here and do his best._

“ _Of course I do. I'm sorry.” Fuma gets out, but his voice is shaking as well now and Kento has never felt more helpless._

 

Kento still has bad times today. Times when it couldn't be more inconvenient, like when he's filming a drama and has four hours to sleep, and he wants to help Fuma but he physically can't because he can't even think. Times when insensitive things slip out, times when his patience wears thin and his tone is too aggressive and it all starts over. Sometimes, he thinks that this is so unfair. Why does he have to handle this on his own, why does it have to be his job to be patient and nice and prepared to just drop everything he's doing in favour of this at any time.

But he tries to think about that this is a disease. Fuma's sick, and he's not doing this on purpose. He's sick and needs treatment, and sometimes Kento can be that treatment on his own.

Except he can't handle it all alone. These days, Fuma's parents know. Shori, Sou and Marius knows. Fuma's manager knows, for practical reasons. Sometimes, they can take the load from Kento, comfort Fuma when he has no energy to do it himself.

Fuma's mother has been fantastic. She cried rivers when Fuma explained, blaming herself for not figuring it out on her own, and then vowed to do all she could.

Kento even went to her to cry once when Fuma was so bad it was tearing them both down, several attacks in one day and Kento just couldn't handle it. She comforted him, told him he was the best thing that ever happened to Fuma, told him he was strong and brave to handle this so well, and that if he ever felt he couldn't do it, he could call her instead, no matter the time.

But Fuma wants it to be him, most of the time. Even if he doesn't say it out loud, he clings to Kento like he'd vanish into atoms if Fuma doesn't hold him together, calms down as soon as he hears Kento's voice. It's happened at work once or twice, and even though Shori handled it well, Fuma practically threw himself at Kento as soon as he got there. He wants it to be Kento.

 

“ _Well then get over it!” He ended up screaming, tears running down his own cheeks as he watched Fuma shiver all over, almost unseeing and completely out of control of himself. But nothing Kento did helped, nothing. He felt rejected, helpless, worthless because he couldn't help the one he loved. And in the end he couldn't stand just sitting there watching him broken, rising to get away._

“ _Don't leave me!” Fuma almost screamed, voice panicked, hands reaching out and clutching in Kento's shirt as he rose, the pure fear shining from Fuma's eyes making Kento pause. “Please don't leave me! Don't leave me...”_

 

“I love you so much.” Fuma mumbles, his voice almost seeming like he's hurting from how much he feels it, and Kento nearly gets tears in his eyes every time Fuma says that. He doesn't think anyone has or ever will love him like Fuma does. “Why do you bear with me.”

“Because I love you.” Kento says firmly, because he doesn't think anyone loves Fuma like he does, either.

It ties them so much closer together, that they know each other so deeply. It's almost a little scary, and sometimes Kento wonders what Fuma would do without him. But at the same time, he hates that anxiety, hates it from the bottom of his heart, wishes it dead and destroyed, but the anxiety is not Fuma. And he loves Fuma. So he can't see himself without Fuma, either.

Fuma often asks that. Why he stands it, if he doesn't tire of it. One of Fuma's greatest fears seem to be that Kento won't be able to take it any more and leave. Which is very counter productive, but then again, anxiety isn't rational.

Fuma sighs in his ear, and Kento hears that he's almost all the way back up.

“Do you feel better?” He asks quietly, and Fuma sighs again.

“Mm.” He mumbles. “Thank you.”

“Always.” Kento says, because that's what he feels. He'll always be there for Fuma if he needs it. Even if he has to stay up all night. “Do you want me to talk about something else for a while?”

It helps. To talk about normal things for a little while after it's passed, to let Fuma's body work normally before he's left alone, to keep him from relapsing as soon as they hang up.

Fuma doesn't reply at first, and Kento knows what that means.

“I had a really boring lecturer this morning.” He starts softly, and he hears Fuma's breath of relief, knowing he made the right decision.

When they hang up, it's 3:15 in the morning, and Kento's getting up at 7. But it's alright. If he can help Fuma, he'll do it no matter what.

 

23-24. Arguing/Making up afterwards – PG, fancy garden party AU - 2541 words

 

Fuma gracefully snatches a glass from a silvery tray, knowing very well he's literally late to the party, but who cares.

It's a pretty garden, white clothed tables strategically placed under a canopy of lights, verdure in forms of well trimmed hedges and flawless flower beds perfectly cared for. There's even a pond lined in white stone, a fountain sending droplets of water into the air that glitters rainbow in the setting evening sun.

Fuma sips the champagne, which tastes 20 years old and expensive as hell, but he's not that impressed. It's a bit too dry for his liking. He smiles at a pretty woman walking past as he heads for the placement chart, looking for his intended seat, already settling that if his dinner companions are too dull he's changing it.

“Fuma.” A low, collected voice says just next to him suddenly, and he glances up at his father before sipping more champagne, entirely unsurprised to be found so fast. “You're late.”

“I fell asleep.” Fuma admits, shrugging as he returns his attention to the seating chart.

His father draws a deep breath and Fuma knows he'll be in trouble for this later. But there's not much his father can do right now.

“You are my son. You're a representative of our family, _you cannot be late_.” He hisses, but Fuma ignores it since he's found his table. He recognizes the names of a couple where the man is the heir of a huge insurance company, and Fuma knows he's a bit dry, but he's only in his thirties. Besides, his wife is cute. There's also an old lady who isn't entirely politically correct and always show up covered in jewels, and then two names that Fuma doesn't recognize.

“Who's that?” He asks and taps the name printed in golden kanji on the chart, ignoring his father's reprimanding.

“That is Nakajima Kento. He just graduated from business school with flawless grades, and he's a very good representative of his father and their company. Unlike some. Make sure to get along with him.” Fuma's father says coldly, but Fuma ignores the jab and rolls his eyes. Another boring one then, that he most certainly will not get along with. But at least the bejewelled lady is fun company. “You ignored the dress code. Again.”

“It's summer.” Fuma groans, lazily turning his head to face the anger oozing from his father's eyes. He knows he should wear black, but black is so depressing on a summer night. Light grey and relaxed is more his style anyway.

Fuma's father opens his mouth to most certainly tell him to go change this instant, but there's a man with his wife stopping to greet him, and he's distracted. Fuma greets politely as well, just as he's been taught all his life, but then quickly excuses himself and goes to find his table instead.

He hates these things. Dinners and small talk and so, so boring cultural conversations, it's not his thing at all. But he was unfortunately born into one of the richest upper class families in the country, and so this is what he has to endure for the sake of his parents' name. His siblings are too young for this kind of event yet, lucky them.

The table is almost full already, only the wife of the dry business heir is missing, but there's a shawl draped over her chair so Fuma figures she'll be back soon.

He sets his champagne glass down next to the other four placed above his plate and glances around the table, at the business heir in his impeccable suit, at the always as bejewelled lady whose eyeshadow heavy eyes light up when she sees him, and at the two just next to him. A girl who looks young and nervous in a sweet dove blue dress, seemingly depending on the man next to her.

He's interesting, Fuma thinks, because he doesn't look at all how he'd imagined him. Nakajima Kento, the business graduate. He's wearing the requested black, but his accent colour is pale pink and his hair is styled, reflecting his age which can't be much above Fuma's own. His face is not bad, either.

“Good evening.” Fuma says eventually, nodding towards them and accepts the hand that the old lady reaches out for him, leans down for the requested not even there kiss to her hand. She likes him a lot, since he doesn't tend to stick to proper behaviour, and Fuma has a hunch that she may have requested him at her table.

“I don't think we've met.” Nakajima speaks up as Fuma sits down, smiling despite the look of confusion in his eyes at Fuma's lack of required introduction. “I'm Nakajima Kento, pleased to meet you.”

“Kikuchi Fuma, pleasure.” Fuma nods at him again, reaching for his champagne as the introduction goes around the table.

The frail girl is apparently in Kento's company, but Fuma concludes they're not dates since their clothing doesn't match, and after a little while it turns out they're cousins.

The dinner proceeds as any dinner would, but Fuma finds it surprisingly entertaining.

This Nakajima keeps perking his interest, speaking flawlessly and smoothly, keeping track of what everyone has said so far and steering the conversation exactly where he wants it. It's intriguing, and Fuma does his best to subtly throw him off, dropping a few comments that you're not meant to say, but Nakajima rescues them all.

He doesn't seem to like Fuma very much, which is understandable, even gives him a long look that is almost disgusted when he leans his head back to empty his champagne glass just before the first wine serving.

Fuma doesn't care that much. Provocation is his favourite hobby, ruining people's expectations of him a close runner up.

Nakajima is really good at what he does, it's easy to tell, making people like him with little effort, but Fuma's not that easily swayed. He hates these fake conversations, hates correct façades and Nakajima seems fond of them both. Because occasionally, like when Fuma says that business isn't the best way of saving the world, quite the opposite, or when he complains about the wine not being to his liking, there's something flashing in those big eyes, irritation that doesn't see the surface. But Fuma wants it to, wants to break him out of that perfect mould.

Fuma's not behaving bad enough to be entirely improper. Just enough to push the limits of what's acceptable in these social circuits, drinking too much at once, saying things that are commonly never spoken even though everyone thinks it, and ultimately complains about wealth.

The last part seems to be what gets under Nakajima's skin the most, when Fuma flaunts how much money he has to move around with, when he talks about how he finds his life so utterly dull despite it.

It takes until dessert for him to snap, and Fuma must admit he held out for a long time.

“Italian ice cream?” Fuma pokes at the piece of art on the plate before him, effectively ruining it's composition. “I would have wished for something else, ice cream comes off a little cheap in my opinion.”

He watches Nakajima out of the corner of his eye as the wife starts saying something about Italian being the best kind of ice cream, but as Fuma sees Nakajima pointedly putting his spoon down, he turns to look straight at him instead.

“You're very spoiled, aren't you?” Nakajima asks, tone much sharper than his amiable speaking voice has been this far, eyes no longer covering up that intense look of anger that he's built up the entire evening.

“Raised that way.” Fuma admits with a joyless smile, reaching for his dessert wine.

“There are people in this world who worked for their wealth, are you aware of that?” Nakajima goes on, and Fuma smiles against the rim of his glass as he sips without really drinking. He just knows it looks nonchalant. “Not everyone can be blessed with a fortunate family, and I'm starting to feel like those who are might not be the ones who deserve it.”

“Kento...” The frail girl that Fuma doesn't remember the name of lays a hand on his shoulder with wide eyes, but he determinedly and calmly shrugs it off to keep his focus on Fuma.

“Have you ever done a day's work in your life?” Nakajima asks, and Fuma must admit he's more than intrigued right now, Nakajima's true reactions making his eyes glow and his posture change.

“... There was this one time I helped my mother in the garden?” Fuma frowns, pretending to remember something. He's not afraid of working, of course he's done work, it's just that his parents won't let him do what he wants.

“That must have been tough for you.” Nakajima says curtly, and Fuma watches how a lock of his perfectly styled hair falls onto his forehead, lingers on the physical interpretation of his façade finally crashing down. “My father worked hard on his company, was never home and did his best to build it up to what it is today from nothing. And when there are people like you, who have it all served on a silver platter and fed it, and still has the nerve to complain about it, it honestly makes me furious.”

There's a silence following his words that Fuma spends watching Nakajima's slightly elevated breathing pattern.

“Do you think wealth is worth working for?” Fuma asks, because those are the kind of ideas he ponders in reality, too. “Aren't there other things that are more important?”

The business man clears his throat pointedly, obviously trying to break this conversation, but he's a wimp who won't follow through, and even Nakajima ignores his feeble effort.

“I don't think someone who's never had a concern about money in his whole life can say that wealth is worthless. I don't know what ideals you consider most important, but if there's something worth working for, it's the stability of your family.” Nakajima says fiercely, the volume of his voice rising a little bit and Fuma smiles, glancing around to see a woman from the table next to theirs pause and look over her shoulder.

“You should keep your voice down Nakajima-kun.” Fuma smiles triumphantly, knowing he will inevitably win this because this is his environment no matter how little he likes it. “Wouldn't want to disturb the wealthy people.”

Nakajima immediately glances around, panic flashing by on his face until he settles that no one's watching him, then proceeds to glare at Fuma like he wants to decapitate him with the dessert fork.

Fuma just raises an eyebrow at him, a little impressed by how he manages to combine fighting spirit with self-control. It's attractive.

Then the lady starts laughing, telling them good show and asks Nakajima if he wants to pay her a visit sometime.

Nakajima doesn't speak to Fuma after that, hurries to leave the table at the first opportunity, but as Fuma lazily stays in his seat, chatting with the remaining guests at the table, he occasionally feels burning eyes on him and he can't keep the smile off his face.

It doesn't take long from that Fuma leaves the table until Nakajima finds him again, but that was to be expected.

There's a hand on Fuma's shoulder from behind, and he must admit he's surprised by the physical contact, but turns around with a casual expression.

Nakajima looks calmer now, the stray lock of his hair tucked back where it belongs, but Fuma still feels like there's no façade up right now.

“Can I talk to you?” He asks as politely as ever, and Fuma shrugs, sipping his drink that's intended to get him drunk. He's used to alcohol, but everyone around are getting tipsy by now so he figured it was finally okay to go strong.

“Looks like you're already doing it.” Fuma points out, which makes Nakajima's jaw set as if he wants to slap Fuma, but he clearly takes a breath to calm down.

“Perhaps somewhere else?” He suggests instead, and Fuma grins, almost proposing they could go to his room just to see the reaction. But he just shrugs, letting Nakajima lead the way.

It's a big garden, and Nakajima brings him down a small paved path that's dimly illuminated by a single string of lights.

“This is romantic.” Fuma comments after a little while of walking in silence, which isn't a lie, but his tone is still mocking.

“Are you really stuck up, or do you just get off on provocation?” Nakajima replies, his tone harsh again, and Fuma's eyebrows involuntarily rise at his choice of words.

“Now I see why you wanted to be alone.” He says after a moment, decidedly not answering the question.

“Because I have a feeling you can't be that stupid.” Nakajima goes on as if Fuma didn't speak, watching him intently as they walk slowly. The lights reflect in his eyes and makes them even more fierce, and Fuma doesn't find himself having any problems holding his gaze. “But it's hard to tell, you might as well just be sadistic.”

“If you want me to be.” Fuma grins, because that one was easy, and Nakajima makes a face of discomfort.

“See, you did it again. Are you flirting with me or are you just creeping me out?” Nakajima asks, and Fuma is once again impressed with his sudden straightforwardness. “I can't figure you out.”

“That's me, Kikuchi Fuma, a mystery.” He says, but he's very interested in the direction Nakajima's taking this conversation. That he even considered the option that Fuma's flirting with him.

Nakajima laughs spitefully at that, and it's a pretty sound despite the negative tone. “You like that idea, don't you?”

“I kind of do.” Fuma smiles, considering it. “I might put it on my business card.”

“Next to rude and sadistic?” Nakajima raises an eyebrow, but Fuma just laughs.

“I'm not sadistic. I'm just chronically bored.” He confesses, but there's a smirk on his lips as he looks back at Nakajima glaring at him.

“Must be a difficult condition.” He says ironically. “Wish I could do something.”

“You could.” Fuma says evasively, grinning as Nakajima's eyes narrow.

“Really?” He says, the annoyance clear in his tone. “What could I possibly do for-”

Fuma rolls his eyes and steps forward, grabbing his chin with one hand and presses a quieting kiss to his lips. It's not like Fuma normally kisses people quiet, but he's almost convinced Nakajima won't push him away, that there was a reason he wanted Fuma alone. And that just makes this man even more interesting.

He's not disappointed, the kiss reciprocated almost immediately by those soft lips, eventually deepening and Fuma only vaguely hears the sound of an expensive glass crashing against the stones as it slips from distracted fingers.

He has a feeling he'll get along very well with Nakajima after all.

 

 


End file.
